


Tell Me I’m Okay, Davey

by One_Angsty_Boi



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Fluff, Gay, Honestly crap but whatever, M/M, Modern AU, modern/college au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 08:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_Angsty_Boi/pseuds/One_Angsty_Boi
Summary: After weeks, months, of beating around the bush, Jack has a mini-panic attack. Davey (who’s been on anxiety meds for years) takes it upon himself to force Jack to accept that he actually has an anxiety problem, although different from his own.(Prompt: “I’m fine”)





	Tell Me I’m Okay, Davey

**Author's Note:**

> This is in no way meant to be a masterpiece, but simply some good ol’ Angsty Fluff. Enjoy!

Noise all around them. So much noise. People of all ages roaring with laughter and discussions, and even some arguments. Plates clattering loudly against other plates, against table surfaces, against the floor. Forks and knives scraping them, giving off a skin-crawling screech, and glasses clinking together. Hearing it all from the outside was deafening. But luckily, Davey had remembered to take his meds that morning. 

“I’m fine.” 

Jack was sitting alone in the crowded cafeteria, staring down into his plate without eating. Or, he had been alone, until Davey had sat down across from him with a firm nod and harsh clearing of the throat. Upon hearing these words, he had leaned forward to get a closer look of Jack’s face, scanning it for any sign of a lie. Jack’s eyes darted from his food, to the wall, to a small puddle of spilled sauce on the table surface. Anywhere but at Davey, who could feel his throat closing up. The figure of Jack blurred in front of him, and the hand Davey dragged across his face trembled. 

_ Breathe _ , he reminded himself, desperate to escape the drumming throb that seemed to echo within his skull. 

“You’re fine?” he asked his friend (who looked anything but) through the fog that had settled around him, releasing a deep breath.

“Yeah. Just tired.” 

Jack smiled at him — a crooked, quick, and pained smile — as if that would be enough to convince Davey that everything was as it should be. It was as if Jack expected him to believe that despite his distant glare, he was fully present right here, right now in the busy cafeteria. That he was wholeheartedly engaged in their barely real conversation, and that he wasn’t hunched over like a frightened dog. Of course, Davey saw right through it. To be honest, anyone would. If Jack couldn’t even smile for more than a second, did it count as a smile at all? 

The questions and thoughts that whirred through Davey’s head came and went faster than he could process and left him at the edge of his seat. The people around them became a colorful tornado, engulfing them both, and the floor seemed to sway beneath the chair. 

“So don’t worry,” Jack added, but his words fell away into the ocean that lay between him, Davey, and the rest of the world. 

Desperate to find a center, to stop the spinning sensation that left him nauseous, Davey gladly put his attention towards Jack instead, doing his best to forget about his own predicaments for the time being. It wasn’t easy to see how Jack sat slumped in his seat, staring at nothing. How he hadn’t even touched his lunch, except to toss it around on his plate. But worrying about his friend somehow seemed like an easier task in this environment than dealing with his own crap, so that’s exactly what he did. No matter how he looked at it, there was nothing about this moment that could convince him that Jack was okay. Something was definitely wrong. And more than anything, Davey had to know what. 

He coughed once, hoping to regain his voice. Surprisingly, he did. 

“Why are you alone?” he asked Jack. “You know, Crutchie and Race and Romeo, and…everyone, are over there. To your left. Why aren’t you sitting with them?” 

He shot a glance at the table a few tables over, where a big part of their friend group was sharing their meal. In the corner was Albert, balancing a wildly eccentric conversation between himself and his best friend Race, and doing something on his iPhone; probably playing some dumb mobile game. Race seemed to have no qualms about making it harder for him, considering how he rocked him back and forth, left to right. But Albert didn’t seem to mind that much. Opposite them Romeo stood, looming over the bespectacled man in the chair in front of him. Specs’s hint of a smile told Davey that he was enjoying the neck massage that Romeo was treating him to. And finally, there was Crutchie, who followed the action around the table with the wide, sweet smile that he was known for. The crutches that had given him his nickname rested underneath the table, and Albert absentmindedly rolled one of them around under his foot. The boys were loud, and quite honestly sort of draining to be around in Davey’s case. But they were also kind, welcoming, hilarious. And most importantly, people that he knew Jack loved more than anything. So the fact that he was sitting so close to them all and yet so far away was almost shocking. Certainly reason for concern. 

Jack muttered something unintelligible in response and tightened the grip on his fork, played with his broccoli. When Davey tried to make contact with him he was only met by the gray of Jack’s old-fashioned cap, casting a shadow over his face. Davey leaned in closer.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I just… I need to be alone sometimes.” 

Davey gave him a look. Normally, Jack was desperate for attention from his closest peers. It was clear in the way he would take any opportunity to be clingy with them, and get excited about the smallest hint of appreciation. How he would hug each and every one of them like it had been ages since he saw them last, even if, in reality, it had probably been a few days at most. Without socializing, Jack quickly grew miserable. Today seemed to be proof of that: A deep frown rested on his face, and the bags under his eyes were more prominent than usual. So why was he choosing to sit alone? Davey didn’t think the lines and shadows were caused by a lack of sleep, this time — not only that, at least. And even if they were, that still meant there was something keeping him up at night. Gnawing at his core. Something Davey decided Jack needed help with. 

One glance at Jack’s plate and Davey couldn’t help feeling disgusted. He seriously doubted it was even possible to eat the broccoli after Jack’s complete slaughter of it. By now it looked more like a green goo than something that had started out as a vegetable. 

“Are you gonna eat your food or not?” he asked Jack and gestured to the plate. Jack was still glaring at it, as though the food itself had hurt him. Davey gave Jack the same treatment. He imagined his gaze burning a hole into the hat that covered Jack’s face, waiting for a reaction. Finally, Jack looked up, and Davey knew that his blank stare made it clear he was expecting an answer from him. 

Jack shrugged as if it was obvious he would, but still refused to put anything in his mouth. “Yeah. ‘Course I will.” 

Davey raised an eyebrow, barely even sarcastic. “Really? ‘Cause it looks like you’re just torturing it.” 

“Not that hungry,” Jack mumbled, and Davey studied him silently. Jack’s gaze was fixed on something non-existent that Davey couldn’t determine the exact location of. The glimmer that would normally light up his eyes was gone and replaced by an empty expression that made it clear Jack’s mind was somewhere else. Now that he thought about it, this wasn’t the first time Davey had seen Jack like this. In fact, it was only one of many times. But this might be the first time he had ever noticed it to this extent. Perhaps it was the sitting alone part that amplified just how disconnected Jack seemed from everything and everyone around him, like he was stuck inside a bubble that no one could reach him through. 

For a good two minutes the two of them just sat there, Davey watching Jack and Jack watching his food, as though it would disappear from his plate if he just glared at it long enough. When he realized that wasn’t going to happen, he took a hesitant bite. Instantly, regret flashed across his face, and he suppressed a gag. This was the last straw for Davey. He was just about to press the matter further when he remembered the time. With a sigh he glanced at his wrist watch and swore under his breath, then turned to Jack again. 

“Jack, I gotta go. I’ve got class in ten minutes. But you should eat something. And go talk to the others if you want to. All right?” 

“Cool.” 

Davey didn’t know how to respond to that. 

“Yup,” he simply said as he grabbed his bag and got out of the chair. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

Jack nodded solemnly and Davey crossed to get to his side of the table, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “All right,” he said and gave it a light squeeze, meaning for it to be a reassuring gesture. But he was quick to let go when Jack immediately tensed up under his touch.

“Take care of yourself,” he added, more as an afterthought than anything, before walking away. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like it was something Jack needed to hear at that moment. 

About a week earlier, Davey had agreed to help Crutchie study. That was usually Jack’s job — the two of them did share an apartment, after all — but the due date for his latest art assignment was getting closer and closer... Which meant that he would be spending every free moment of his time painting, like he always did in the weeks prior to a deadline. So Davey had offered to take his place, giving Crutchie a study partner and Jack the time to paint. It was therefore a surprise when he entered the apartment later that day to find Jack, not cooped up in his room with a brush in hand, but sitting in the living room. He was curled up on the couch with headphones on, his computer on his lap.

“Did he finish his painting already?” Davey asked Crutchie when they passed him on their way into the kitchen. His crutches did not slow him down as he hurried through the room, shaking his head, but not elaborating. 

“Then what is he doing?” 

Davey stopped to examine his friend further, but Crutchie just shook his head again and grabbed hold of his arm, leading him into the kitchen. It wasn’t until they were safe within the walls of the other room that he dared to speak. 

“He’s been like this the entire evening. I think we should just let him be.” 

A wave of worry washed over Davey.

“Is something wrong…?” 

“I don’t think so. You know how he gets. Sometimes he just needs a… break, I guess. I mean, don’t we all?” He flashed Davey a grin, before limping over to the counter and putting his right crutch aside. 

“Well, yeah, it’s just… He seems pretty down today.” Davey put his bag down on the table and pulled out a chair as Crutchie started preparing tea for the both of them. 

“Do you think Jack wants tea, too?” Davey asked as he sat down. Crutchie opened a cabinet overhead and brought out three mugs, grabbing one at a time since one arm was still resting on his left crutch. 

“I’ll bring him a cup,” Crutchie said as he started pouring hot water into the three mugs. “You get started and I’ll be back in a sec.” 

Davey nodded and brought out his notebook, pencil, and laptop, arranging them neatly. It didn’t occur to him how unnecessary this was, considering the fact that in a few minutes he would be using them anyway. That is, the many years of doing so out of habit meant that he didn’t give it much thought anymore.

He flinched when a soft clink was heard and a cup appeared before him, then uttered a grateful thank you as Crutchie disappeared into the living room. The tea was piping hot when he put the cup to his lips, and he found himself impatiently blowing on it as his ears perked up at the sound of Crutchie’s voice, coming through the open door. He tried his best not to pay attention, but couldn’t help listening in on the conversation outside — if one could even call it that. 

In the softest voice Davey had heard… maybe ever, Crutchie said, “Hey, buddy. Made you tea.” 

Jack mumbled something in response that Davey assumed to be a “Thanks, Crutchie.” 

As discreetly as possible, Davey tried to catch a glimpse of his friends from his seat at the table and saw nothing but an empty hallway at the other end of the apartment. With a sigh, he turned to the books that rested on the tabletop instead, grimacing at them. Davey was what most people would call a “Model A-student,” and sure, he was academically inclined, but to say he didn’t enjoy studying would be an understatement. At least not when there were more important things going on, distracting him. Like Jack feeling unwell. Highly distracting. 

“How are you?” he heard Crutchie say outside. Jack once again mumbled something, and this time Davey couldn’t make out any words at all. 

“All right,” Crutchie said. “We’re here if you need us, okay?” 

It became quiet. Finally, his friend appeared in the kitchen entrance, his lips pressed into a tight line. He closed the door softly and Davey looked at him, waiting for some sort of explanation, anything. But all Crutchie did was grab the cup that still waited on the counter and sit down at the table. 

“Okay,” he said, a hint of his cheerfulness returning. “You ready for the possibly worst three hours of your life?”

Davey smiled, opening his notebook to a blank spread. “You bet I am.” 

Within minutes they were drowned in the world of school, delving in head first to the subject at hand. But it was hard to focus when every time he’d blink, the image of Jack — staring off into the distance with his unseeing gaze — would appear. An unexplainable weight rested on Davey’s shoulders, making it a struggle to even sit upright.

After what felt like days but was actually barely two hours, Davey got out of his chair. 

“I’m sorry, I just need the bathroom. I’ll be back soon.”

Crutchie didn’t even look up from his laptop when he waved at Davey, who left the kitchen. 

As he passed through the living room he gave Jack, who was still sat with his computer on his lap, a fleeting glance. Before he knew it, his feet had stopped moving. An urge to do something arose within Davey, but he couldn’t think straight. When he told himself to keep walking, he found that his muscles weren’t listening. It was as if an invisible rope had been tied around his waist, and the more he tried to leave, the harder it would pull him back. He debated going up to Jack, asking him how he was doing, or telling him… Telling him what? 

As Davey realized he really had nothing to say, he hurried into the bathroom and back to Crutchie, hoping not to disturb his artist friend. The rope was left somewhere on the floor, not to be found again.

It took almost two more hours before Crutchie slammed his laptop and book shut and Davey did the same. 

“I’d consider this a successful study session, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uh… Yeah, I agree,” Davey said with a quick glance at the messy scribbles that now filled his notebook, contrasting his usual neat handwriting and well organized notes. 

“Do you want anything?” Crutchie asked him and used one crutch to get up from his chair. “Toast? Cupcake? We might still have cupcakes in the fridge, Romeo brought some over. Unless Jack ate them all. Or do you want dinner? That works too.”

“Uh… I’ll take whatever.”

“All right.”

They settled on another round of tea, a shared cupcake — turns out there was only one left after all (“Goddammit, Jack! I told him to save a few. Oh well, _ ”  _ Crutchie had complained) — and some left-over pasta from the day before. Had this been any other day Davey would have cringed at the combination, but today he found himself too exhausted to care much. 

When they finally exited the kitchen, they discovered that Jack had fallen asleep in pretty much the same position they’d left him in, except his laptop was now placed on the coffee table in front of him and his headphones had fallen to the floor. 

“Oh dear,” Crutchie sighed and limped over to his friend. “Jack? Jackie?” 

Something sour settled in Davey’s stomach and a bitter taste spread in his mouth. 

_ Jackie. _

But then he hurried to push it down, knowing how unnecessary it was to get jealous at something so trivial.

He returned his focus to Crutchie, who gave Jack a gentle nudge. To no effect. He went on to lightly tap his friend on the cheek, shoulder, arm. Nothing. With a face of defeat he turned back to Davey and shook his head. “He’s out cold.” 

Davey didn’t realize that he must be wearing a pretty troubled expression until Crutchie shot him a warm smile that made him want to punch himself. 

“Don’t worry about him. He’ll probably be back to his usual self tomorrow,” Crutchie reassured Davey as he nodded towards the hallway. The two of them crossed the apartment together, Crutchie taking extra care not to make too much noise with his crutches. 

They reached the front door, and Davey stopped to get his things.

“So, Crutchie… You and Jack,” he started as he shimmied into his coat, ignoring the heat that had risen to his cheeks. Too late to turn back now. 

Crutchie hummed absentmindedly as he fiddled with something hanging on the wall — A portrait of him and Jack. They were standing engulfed in the warm glow of sun rise. Or was it sun set? Davey couldn’t tell. Either way, they looked happy. In the corner, Jack’s signature had been carefully scrawled. It wasn’t hard to figure out what the inspiration for the painting was: Their trip to Santa Fe.

Davey hadn’t known either of them back then. It was years ago now, yet Jack still brought it up any chance he got. Something about that place fascinated him to no end, and even though Davey could not for the life of him understand why, it made him happy to see Jack so excited. And yet a part of him, no matter how irrational, hated that he hadn’t been the one to go with him. That he hadn’t been that special person in his life he trusted enough to share this experience he had always dreamed about, with. But, of course, Davey reminded himself again like many times before, they hadn’t known each other back then. 

“How long have you two known each other, again?” he asked Crutchie, who turned to Davey with surprise written on his face. The expression quickly melted into the smile he was recognized for by most of their friends. 

“Since early childhood. We went to the same elementary school. Then the same middle school, and high school, and... here we are… Didn’t you know that already?” 

“Oh. Yeah.” 

Davey shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, suddenly feeling very exposed. Crutchie eyed him cautiously, as if fearing an outburst, then took a step closer.

“There’s something else you wanna ask, isn’t there?”

Davey almost told him that no, there was nothing more he wanted to ask, and now he had to leave, so  _ see you later, Crutch,  _ but something about the way Crutchie looked at him convinced him he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead, he returned to the entrance of the living room. Jack was still asleep on the couch. 

“Has he always been like this?” Davey asked. He could hear Crutchie ambling along behind him. 

“What do you mean?” his voice came from a few steps back. 

“Like… He just gets these… down moments. Like today. Where he just seems so… Well, yeah. Down.” 

Crutchie’s gaze landed on Jack, and when the question settled in his mind he nodded. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, he has. Always. Or, ever since middle school I mean, that’s when it started, I think, I don’t know. I don’t really remember that well. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Davey said, picking at the top button of his coat. It was hanging on by a thread. He made a mental note to sew it back on before it fell off for good. “I’m just… worried is all.” 

“Don’t be. Jack’s fine. He knows how to take care of himself.” 

Davey gave him a look and Crutchie threw his hands up in defeat while turning back to the hall.

“Okay, fine, he’s not the… kindest to himself, but he’s working on it. And besides, he said he was fine when I asked him.”

Davey followed Crutchie, shaking his head in disbelief. As if it wasn’t obvious that Jack wasn’t being honest. 

“So you’re gonna believe him just ‘cause he  _ says _ he’s fine?”

“I’m gonna trust his decision to keep to himself when he needs it.”

Okay, that’s not the response Davey had expected. And it filled him with questions. Was it possible that Crutchie really didn’t see how concerning Jack’s state was? Or did he not trust that Davey — poor, fragile Davey — could handle the truth? Or, worse…

Could it be that he, truly, was unbothered by Jack’s misery? 

“How do you share an apartment with him?” Davey couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Crutchie just laughed at that, and it sent a flood of boiling anger through Davey. He had no idea where it came from, but not even a second later it took all he had not to give up all common sense and scream at the top of his lungs. 

“Thank you for the help,” Crutchie said, putting out a hand to say goodbye.

“No problem,” Davey replied curtly, moving toward the door, then stopping abruptly. Realizing how impolite this had been, he took a deep breath. “For the record, though, it’s pretty obvious to me that he’s not fine. I think… Could you maybe check up on him? Just a bit?”

For a moment, Crutchie was quiet. When Davey glanced back at him over his shoulder, Crutchie shrugged, eyebrows raised and a hint of hesitation in his voice. “If that’s gonna calm you down, then yes.” 

Davey nodded, one hand still on the handle.

“Right. Good. Uh, thank you.” 

It was with both a racing heart and head that he left Crutchie and Jack’s apartment that night. 

In the weeks to come, Davey made sure to pay extra attention to Jack’s behavior. It wasn’t like he had flipped a switch and was isolating himself constantly all of a sudden. In fact, most of the time he was his regular charming, hilarious self. 

Like the time when Romeo went on and on about how Specs spent more time studying than hanging out with him, and Jack told him to just “man up and confess his feelings already.” Of course, Romeo had turned red and started rambling about how he didn’t have feelings for Specs and that Jack was an idiot for even implying that was the case. (A week later, and they were a couple.) It had been an amusing sight to say the least, but for some reason Davey hadn’t been able to rip his gaze from Jack. The sound of his roaring laughter had sent goosebumps flying over Davey’s arms, and it was only a matter of seconds before his knees were all wobbly and his stomach filled with butterflies. As he’d excused himself in favor of finding the nearest bathroom, he’d had a creeping suspicion that his cheeks were close in color to Romeo’s. 

Or the time when Race simply couldn’t figure out the answer to a question during one of their occasional study sessions, and Jack had worked through it with him until he got it… Only to, once Race had come back from his near-breakdown, make fun of him for not getting it, sending them both into a long bickering match that entertained the rest of their friend group to no end. 

But there were also far too many instances of him going quiet or seeming distracted that would put Davey’s stomach in a twist.

The first time he saw it happen again was one late Saturday evening. Him, Jack, Race, Crutchie, Romeo, Specs, and Albert, had all met up to celebrate one of their favorite Netflix shows getting a renewal for season 2. Or, well, it had become one of Jack, Race and Romeo’s favorite shows. Crutchie was excited, but mostly because his friends were. Albert went along because Race did, and Specs did the same because of Romeo. And Davey came because he had no other plans anyway, so he had thought,  _ might as well. _ Which had seemed like a good decision, until he realized that being cooped up on the relatively small couch with six other people, all reacting loudly to the already overwhelming events portrayed on the TV screen, was the opposite of an ideal evening for him. It didn’t take long before the collar of his shirt felt tight around his neck, his face suddenly suspiciously warm, and with a quick smile he excused himself from the group to go grab his bag and head into the kitchen. 

It was with a slight tremor to his hand that Davey pulled out the bottle, filled a glass to the brim with water and swallowed two pills. His thoughts drifted to Blink and Mush, and then to Katherine. For a moment he envied the fact that they had found reasons not to come to this get-together. But then he shook his head, reminding himself that he wanted to be here, that being with his friends was more important than being fully comfortable, which he rarely was anyway. Give it thirty minutes, he told himself. In thirty minutes he would feel better. In the meantime he would have to do with breathing as evenly as he could. 

Soon, he returned to the living room, where nothing had changed. But not long after, the medication kicked in, and the chaos around him didn’t feel as upsetting or panic-inducing anymore. 

By the time Davey finally noticed Jack’s glum mood, the TV-episode was long over. 

Romeo and Albert had taken up a far too serious game of Mario Kart in the living room. 

(Specs was only half-following, glancing down at his phone every two seconds where Davey assumed he was probably editing a document, working every chance he could.  _ Everyone has their own battles _ , Davey thought, thinking back on all the times Specs had missed out on group hangouts because he’d been too busy studying. And even now, he was distancing himself by putting more attention into his work than the game… much to the objections and dismay of his boyfriend, who craved support in his battle to beat Albert once and for all.)

Meanwhile, Race and Crutchie had entered a lively discussion in the kitchen. 

Jack was nowhere to be seen. 

For a moment Davey stood still in the corridor, unable to decide which room seemed the most bearable. But when an upset roar was heard from the living room, indicating that Romeo had just lost, a series of curses and insults followed. And just like that, Davey decided that,  _ you know what? This is not what I need right now _ , opting for Race and Crutchie in the kitchen.

When he joined them at the table, they quickly nodded in greeting before jumping straight back into their enthusiastic conversation. 

“Yeah, but the fact that she would betray him like that —  _ Damn _ , there is no way I could have foreseen that. Wow.”

“But it felt so natural, though, right? Like it wasn’t out of nowhere?”

“Yeah, definitely! The  _ writing _ , I mean, fuck, this show is  _ so good _ . Can’t wait to watch the rest of the season.” 

“And the acting too! I mean I’m sure those actors could take the crappiest script ever and turn it into a masterpiece.”

“To be honest, I’m with you.”

Their voices faded away as Davey lost interest, and his gaze fell to an obscure figure that he hadn’t even noticed at first. Jack sat, half-hidden in the shadowy corner, next to Crutchie, staring at nothing just like he had done that day in the cafeteria. At certain points he would nod or hum along to what was being said, but mostly he wouldn’t even react. The longer Davey watched him, the more tired Jack seemed to get, and it made Davey’s throat close up. 

“You okay?” Davey asked him, nudging his shoulder from across the table.

It took a second for Jack to look up, as though it wasn’t obvious who Davey was talking to. When they locked eyes he shrugged, shook his head and performed every casual gesture in the book at roughly the same time, which made it look the complete opposite of casual. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, just fine. Just… really, really tired.” 

Davey studied every inch of his face, looking for proof that he was bullshitting. Jack still had bags under his eyes, his cheeks were rosy and his hair was all ruffled, the signature hat that he usually wore lying next to him on the table. It was an old-fashioned hat that didn’t seem to belong on the head of a 21 year old in the 21st century, but lately Davey had realized that Jack seemed to have a thing for the stereotypical “Artist” type, which explained it. Not only did he have the fashion sense down, but more importantly the way he refused to take good care of himself. Staying up late, sleeping in, over-eating or forgetting to eat at all, expecting himself to be able to go without exercise for weeks and then run a marathon as if everything was just fine. 

Davey wanted him to admit that something was wrong. He wanted Jack to admit that something was bothering him, something that hindered him from partaking in the conversation his friends were having with eagerness, like he usually would, and left him slumped over, chin resting on his hands. But considering the time — well past midnight, by now — he decided it was a fair explanation and reluctantly let it slide. 

He went home without answers that night. 

The second time, Jack was walking alone. Davey was making his way through a lecture building, a long break in his schedule ahead of him, when he caught sight of his friend further down the corridor. His backpack stood out to Davey among the rest of the students, as Jack wore it everywhere. It held all his essentials when it came to art; sketchbook, pencils, erasers. Davey knew this, because he had seen this bag many times. Jack wouldn’t leave his apartment without it. Davey kept his gaze locked on it as he shuffled through the crowd, dodging people left and right to find a pathway towards his friend. 

There, an opening. 

With a smile, he called out Jack’s name. But the artist simply kept walking. Davey furrowed his brows and picked up speed, determined to catch up to him.

“Jack!” he tried again, but didn’t get a response this time, either.

It wasn’t until he was right behind his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder that Jack stopped and turned around, moving as if to punch his Davey in the face.

“Woah,” Davey gasped, flinching back, hands in the air. Jack’s eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath as he recognized the taller man in front of him.

“Davey. Sorry. Uh, reflex,” he explained, lowering his arm with an embarrassed look on his face.

“No worries. You okay?” 

The question hung in the air for a moment, until Jack adjusted his bag’s position on his back and met Davey’s gaze with a set jaw that seemed to indicate that he was trying to make himself look stronger than he was feeling. 

“Fine.” 

Not fine, Davey noted. Obviously. 

He gestured to the bag that Jack was clutching tightly. “You got class?”

“Yeah. Art history. You?” 

“Not for another hour. Psych.” 

“With Crutchie,” Jack offered.

“Right.” 

The two of them stared at each other for what could have been one minute or ten. But the moment was ruined when Davey cleared his throat, breaking the thick silence that was so apparent despite the ever-present background clatter of college students going about their day. 

“Well, I guess I should let you get to class.”

Jack eyed the corridor, looking everywhere but at Davey, as he replied, “Yeah. I guess.” 

“I’ll, uh… See you around?” 

Jack nodded. “Yeah. See you around.” 

He disappeared down the corridor before Davey had time to say anything else. 

These were only the first of many more encounters to come that would start with Davey checking on Jack and end with the latter making up some dumb excuse, only to then immediately bounce before Davey could object. 

After the fifth time that week alone, Davey felt it was safe to say that to hear Jack say the words “I’m fine,” was practically the same thing as hearing him say “I have never been worse.” Unfortunately, he had no idea what to do about it. 

The twentieth time this happened, however, Davey had grown impatient. They were hanging in Davey’s apartment, Davey having invited Jack over to “catch up,” since the times where they got the chance to have actual full-length conversations were becoming fewer and far between as school became more and more time-consuming.

They sat in the kitchen, two cups of tea and a croissant each in front of them. Croissants was something they both liked, hence why Davey had bought them. As much as it pained him to admit it, he felt that he and Jack had grown distant lately. An invisible wall separated them from one another, leaving Davey an anxious mess. They needed to find some common ground. These croissants could very well be the bridge that would come to bind them together. 

At least that’s what Davey hoped. 

...Which, in hindsight, might be a lot to ask of two, very much inanimate, pastries. But what other option did he have? 

Jack hesitantly nibbled on his croissant, avoiding Davey’s gaze as the latter awaited his answer. 

“I’m fine,” Jack mumbled, finally, before taking a sip of his tea, very clearly ignoring how hot it was on his tongue. 

Davey raised an eyebrow at him, but Jack didn’t pay him any notice. “You’re fine?” he asked his friend for what felt like the hundredth time at that point, and Jack nodded, taking another sip of the scalding hot tea. Davey sighed at this, shaking his head, as though saying:  _ You are impossible. _

“Jack,” he said, in a somewhat warning tone. “I know you’re not fine.” 

Jack swallowed, and almost choked on his croissant, but managed to push the bite down with a final half-cough, half-gulp in the end. “I am. I’m fine.” 

“Okay, how long are we gonna keep this up? It’s been a month. Maybe more. We both know you’re not fine. Please stop acting like you are, it’s exhausting for both of us.” 

When he glanced up at Jack, the artist was wearing a shocked expression and a pang of guilt shot right through Davey’s heart at the sight.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I… I know you don’t want to worry us. Any of us. But I can tell that something’s wrong. And I want to help you. But I can’t do that if you keep pretending that you’re okay, because it’s clear that you’re not.” 

The kitchen blurred around them as he waited for Jack to say something, anything. And when he did, it wasn’t quite what Davey had expected. 

“I’m not worse off than you are.” 

Davey’s brow twitched. “What do you mean?” 

Sometime during the past ten seconds the table top must have grown very fascinating, because Jack was now studying it intently, fiddling with what could have been a speck of dust or an old bread crumb, as he continued. 

“You’re on medication and stuff. I don’t need any of that.” 

Davey just stared at him. He couldn’t believe this. Where the fuck was this coming from? 

“I’m not sure I’m following, Jack.” 

“Look, all I’m saying is I got nothing to complain about compared to you, or any of the others either, for that matter. I mean, just look at you. Look at Crutchie! I’m good. Great.” 

Davey scoffed at this. He couldn’t help himself. 

“Okay, first of all, Jack — All of us having our own problems doesn’t mean you can’t have any. Second of all, there’s no use comparing yourself to us like that. There’s always gonna be someone having it ‘worse’ than you. That doesn’t mean you’re fine.” 

“Well, there’s no use in me bothering you about my so-called ‘problems’ if yours are way worse, is there?” 

“Jack, I’m not buying it. What is this really about?” 

Jack had just opened his mouth, probably to make an even more useless statement, when he was cut off by some angsty song playing from his back pocket. He pulled out his phone and excused himself before answering. 

“Yeah, ma?”

At first he seemed casually disengaged. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” 

And then he froze.

“ _ Shit. _ ”

Davey raised an eyebrow at him, but Jack was busy holding his breath. He let it out a second later in a hasty exhale. 

“ _ This  _ Thursday? You mean Thursday-in-four-days-Thursday?” 

“What…” Davey started, but Jack shushed him. 

A pause as he waited for the woman on the other line to finish her sentence. 

Jack got to his feet, and Davey could feel his tongue go dry. 

“Shit, okay. I’ll… I’ll be home in fifteen.” 

Wide-eyed and suddenly on edge, Jack hung up and pocketed his phone. 

“Medda?” Davey asked, ignoring his throbbing pulse that drowned out every other sound, and Jack nodded absentmindedly, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair and putting it on.

“Yeah, um… I’m sorry,” he said as he grabbed his bag off the floor. “I… I gotta go.” 

Davey shot to his feet, too. “What’s wrong?” he asked, heart racing.

“Nothing, it’s… um… A long story.” 

“What do you mean?”

Jack stopped in the doorway, turning back to Davey.

“I got accepted. To get looked at, I mean.” 

“Looked at how? What are you…”

“They wanna meet me.” 

Jack’s hands rested on the doorframe, fingers red and knuckles white with strain, and his subtle swaying forward and back made Davey’s stomach do a flip, worried that his friend might faint right there in front of him. 

“Okay, Jack, sit down and tell me what you’re talking about, please.” 

Jack swallowed, hard, before collapsing back into his chair. Davey sat down next to him.

“There’s this art gallery on forty-second street. They had, like… Open applications, or whatever, so I thought, ‘Well what’s the harm in applying,’ right? So I applied.” 

Jack watched Davey expectantly, but the latter just shook his head, not following. 

“Okay I don’t get it, where’s Medda?” 

“She’s back at the apartment with Crutchie. I got the letter, with the time and date and everything. They wanna meet me. They wanna look at my portfolio and see if they like my stuff. I mean, they’ve already seen the photos I included in my application, but they actually wanna see my work. Like, in person. I didn’t think I had enough experience, but they gave me a time. That means they might have liked it. So, you know, if I’m lucky... they might put my paintings up and… stuff.”

A needle could have fallen and it would probably seem to have given off a loud clang upon landing. The two young men stood frozen like statues, exchanging breaths. 

Soon, Davey came to his senses and shrieked, shooting out of his chair and pulling Jack into an embrace. “That’s amazing, Jack!” he exclaimed. After a moment’s hesitation, Jack hugged him back. 

Suddenly, Davey was frustrated with him. “Wait, why haven’t you told anyone?” he questioned as he pulled away to lock eyes with his friend. 

“Well, I didn’t know if they would actually be interested in my stuff,” Jack mumbled into the sleeve of his jacket, ears turning red. 

“But, Jack, this is… This is huge for your career!”

Jack’s chuckle was muffled by the hand that covered his face. “Yeah, I… I know.” 

“You should leave,” Davey said, his hands still on Jack’s shoulders. 

Jack made a move to do just that, but Davey changed his mind and stopped him. “Wait, when is it?” he had to ask. 

“This Thursday.” 

A laugh escaped Davey’s mouth, bubbling up his chest. In less than a week, he thought, his friend might be an actual,  _ professional _ , artist. It was unthinkable, unimaginable. “Wow,” was all he could say. “You nervous?” 

Jack shrugged. “I mean, yeah…”

An idea entered Davey’s mind. “You want me to come with you?” he asked.

The look Jack gave him would be fitting if Davey had just offered to sacrifice himself in Jack’s place in a dark, inescapable ritual. It was the pure expression of  _ I can’t believe it.  _ As if there was no way Davey would ever want to go through with such a thing.

When Davey didn’t take the offer back, Jack was quick to head out into the hallway. 

“Nah, I… I couldn’t let you, I mean… You don’t have to.” 

Davey followed him, placing a hand on the back of Jack’s head as he made to open the door. Jack turned around.

“Jack, it would be an honor for me to go with you. If you would want me there, of course.” 

Jack shrugged again, his cheeks bright red and a look of slight bewilderment on his face.

“I mean, yeah, it would be cool and all if you, like, wanted to…”

Davey pulled his friend into another embrace, and this time Jack buried his face into the taller man’s chest, nestling it into his shirt. Davey pretended not to notice how his own heart skipped a beat as he gave Jack a consoling pat on the back. 

And then he as good as kicked Jack out of the apartment, knowing he had to let him go celebrate with his mother and practically-brother-at-this-point. Davey couldn’t wipe the dumbstruck grin off his face for the following twenty four hours. 

The next four days passed in a whir, and it felt like no time before Davey stood in the kitchen of Medda’s house on Thursday morning, doing his best to calm Jack down. 

“You’re gonna do great,” he assured his friend in a soft tone. “They’re gonna love you and your paintings.” 

“I’m not so sure they will,” Jack muttered, poking holes into his eggs.

Davey had just finished his breakfast and was leaving his dishes in the sink. Jack was still seated at the table, barely having touched his scrambled eggs or bacon, and not even the Nutella toast that Davey had heard him go on and on about so many times before. (It was one of the first things Medda had made Jack when he first came to her as a young boy, and it had been his absolute favorite ever since, Davey recalled.)

Jack’s adoptive mother was a kind woman with a big voice and an even bigger heart; She was a phenomenal singer and owned a theatre where Jack had apparently been forced to spend many afternoons and weekends as a kid. As soon as Jack got the news that his paintings had sparked the art gallery’s interest, she had practically ordered him to let her drive him to the interview. When Jack had told her that Davey had wanted to come with him, she had decided that both of them were welcome to stay the night at her house the Wednesday leading up to the day of. And now, here they were.

Davey chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched Jack, who had dressed up for the occasion, wearing a proper, blue button-up instead of the flannel and T-shirt-combo he would usually go for. But the infamous hat still waited on the tabletop. He and Davey had debated back and forth whether or not it was a good idea for him to wear it to the interview for almost an hour the day before, and ultimately Davey had given in, letting Jack make the choice for himself. 

The two college students looked up when Medda entered the kitchen, hair wet from showering. 

“How are you, boys? Ready?”

Davey smiled politely at her and Jack did his best to do the same, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. It tugged at Davey’s heart to see him like this.

“Jack, honey,” Medda said with a wince, “you should eat. You’re gonna need the energy.” 

“I know, ma. It’s just… I don’t feel so… good.” Jack had never been very eloquent when it came to describing his feelings, but Medda didn’t seem to need any details. 

“I know. Just try, okay?” 

She crossed to give him a kiss on his forehead and he sighed into his plate. Medda passed Davey as she made to leave the kitchen again, and as she did, she stopped. 

“Make sure he eats something?” 

Davey nodded and she smiled gratefully at him, before disappearing down the corridor.

“Okay, Jack,” Davey said, sitting down next to him. “Time to eat.” 

“Do I have to?” 

Davey ignored Jack’s grumpy response and grabbed his fork, knowing full well that Jack wasn’t going to do anything about it himself. Without a word, he scraped up some eggs from the plate and held the fork out in front of Jack. Jack didn’t even look at it. He just stared at Davey.

“Come on,” Davey begged.

“You gonna feed me? Really?” 

“It’s either you let me feed you or you eat on your own, because you need to eat something. It’s your choice.” 

Without breaking eye-contact, Jack swallowed the bite of food on his fork, and Davey sighed in relief. Thank God, he wasn’t refusing. 

Together, they got through a third of the eggs, two pieces of bacon and half the Nutella toast, before Jack shook his head, groaning. 

“No more. Please.” 

Davey put the fork down and gave his friend a gentle pat on the arm. 

“You did great. Water?”

Jack nodded and Davey stood up to get him a glass. Jack got to his feet, too, after carefully wiping off the corners of his mouth, slowly staggering after him. 

Medda returned in the doorway. 

“I’m gonna go get the car,” she said. “I’ll honk for you. All right?” 

Jack nodded and Medda locked his entire head in an embrace, bringing him down to her level to plant a kiss on his cheek. The corner of Davey’s mouth twitched at Jack’s embarrassed dismay. He struggled against his mother for a few seconds before giving up, going limp in her arms. 

“All right,” Medda said as she let go of her son, who barely reacted beyond straightening up. “See you soon, boys.” 

Her keys jingled as she grabbed them from the kitchen table. A second later, she was out the door. 

“How you feeling?” Davey asked Jack, handing him his glass. 

Jack took a long sip before answering. “Weird.” 

“Weird how?” 

“Just weird.” 

Again; not very eloquent. But he got the point across.

Jack gulped down the rest of his water and Davey looked around for the briefcase where he had packed his art. While normally Jack would have kept an eye on it as though it was an ancient relic that could get stolen at any moment, Davey didn’t trust him to remember it in his current state, as he barely seemed able to tell left from right. 

“It’s out in the hall,” Jack said as he put the glass in the sink, surprising Davey.

“What?”

“Briefcase. You’re making sure I have it, right?”

“Uh,” Davey said, not sure how to explain himself. But Jack didn’t seem to mind.

“Well I got it, don’t worry. It’s in the hall.”

“Okay.” 

They exited the kitchen and grabbed their outerwear. Davey couldn’t believe Jack still wore the same dark blue jacket as he had done when they first met. It was an image Davey would never forget: Signature gray hat, jeans, white sneakers… And that  _ jacket _ . Apart from his shirt, Jack didn’t look all too different today. Davey was just about to comment on this when they heard a honk, then two, then three from outside, and exited the house, Jack only stopping to lock the door before hurrying to the car. Davey silently thanked Medda for this later, as he figured he only would have embarrassed himself had he brought something cheesy like that up at a time like this. 

During the drive, Jack was uncharacteristically quiet. Davey mourned the metaphorical and literal room between them where they sat at two separate ends of the back of Medda’s car. The distance made Jack appear even smaller than he had back at the house, and the way he hugged the briefcase like a toddler would their favorite stuffed animal for comfort didn’t exactly help. He stared out the window as they passed street after street, shoulders rigid. He seemed so fragile, so vulnerable. It filled Davey with a longing to hold him, protect him from the world. But, alas, the empty seat between them only helped reinforce the idea that Jack was unreachable. 

It was a horrible thought. 

They were just passing a park when Davey decided that, fuck it, he was going to take Jack’s hand in his and show him that he was there for him. So that’s exactly what he did.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he’d thought that surely Jack would show some sort of reaction, at least. But Jack simply glanced at him briefly, then returned his gaze to the window. Normally this would have sent Davey off on an overthinking-spree, but the fact that Jack, first of all, didn’t remove his hand, but rather, second of all, responded by clutching Davey’s tighter in his, convinced him that this had been the right move. 

At last they stopped before a brick building, colored maroon in the early morning light. The three of them entered together, announcing their arrival to a receptionist as they passed her, then continuing further into the building. Davey’s heart skipped a beat when he tried letting go of Jack’s hand and Jack protested by tightening his grip. So he wanted this? He must. What else could it mean?

They walked down the corridor like that, hand-in-hand, and Davey selfishly enough couldn’t have been happier. 

Soon Medda stopped them, having to turn back.

“All right, boys. Call me if you need anything, okay?” They nodded and she gave Jack a proper bear hug. “I am so proud of you. No matter what, I am so, so proud of you.” 

Jack looked like he might vomit any second. Luckily, he didn’t. With one last kiss on the cheek, Medda wished her son goodbye and good luck before taking off in the direction they had just come from. Not long after they could hear the sound of her car driving off, and the two boys were left alone in the building — left to deal with their nerves on their own. Both breathing hard they continued their walk, something unspoken yet sacred between them. 

Together, they reached the sitting area that the receptionist had pointed them to. There was only one other person there, a girl around their age. She held a briefcase much like Jack’s close to her chest where she sat, waiting for her turn. Davey gave her a sympathetic smile, but she didn’t notice him. She just stared at the floor, completely wrapped up in her own head. So Davey turned back to Jack, who was wearing a strikingly similar expression to the girl’s: Working jaw, eyes in a squint, nose scrunched, brows furrowed. 

“Hey,” Davey whispered, giving Jack a light shove. “Wanna sit down?” 

Jack didn’t respond, but merely plopped down in one of the chairs, sinking into the soft cushioning. Davey did the same next to him. Jack’s hand felt heavy in his where they sat, but in a good way, the weight reminding him that they were actually sitting there, together. Despite Jack nervously bouncing his leg up and down and Davey’s own anxiety being triggered by his jitters, he couldn’t kill the smile that played on his lips.

They waited almost half an hour before a man twice their age stepped out into the sitting area. By then the girl was already long gone. 

“Jack Kelly,” the man called out, as if he wasn’t the only person left waiting, and Jack stood up on shaky legs. In that moment he bore quite the resemblance to Bambi on ice, and Davey would have laughed if he wasn’t so busy being worried. 

“You can do this,” he whispered, giving Jack’s hand a light squeeze before letting go. Jack taking a slow, yet shallow breath was the last thing Davey saw before he entered a room with the man. With a sigh, Davey sank back into the chair. 

As he waited, he examined the framed artworks that decorated the walls of the sitting room. There were paintings of landscapes, portraits, even some abstract, modern pieces, and a few charcoal sketches. Davey didn’t know much about art, but in his uneducated (and totally unbiased, he told himself) opinion, Jack’s paintings were better than the ones hanging on these walls. They had more life, more depth. 

Looking at Jack’s paintings was a special thing. They often exuded energy and warmth, and they would fill Davey with an indescribable sentimentality and longing for something that he barely understood himself. Seeing Jack paint was even better. With every stroke the piece would grow more lifelike, and Jack wielded the brush with such skill, such confidence. It was a truly captivating experience to witness. 

Barely three minutes passed before the door slammed open and a whirlwind of blue flew past Davey, shooting down the corridor. He got to his feet in an instant, overwhelmed with confusion and the sense that something was horribly wrong, but took a second to process what he’d just seen. Once he realized what had just happened, a sour taste filled his mouth. 

“Jack? Jack!”

He ran after his friend with his heart in his throat. Where could he have gone to?  _ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. _

He found Jack outside the building, on the steps leading up to the entrance. Through the glass door, Davey could see he was bent over, hands on his knees, and his back heaved for every breath. He must have removed his hat at some point, because his brown hair hung loose, shifting and swaying with each pant. 

“Jack!” Davey yelled and ran out the door, rushing over to his friend. Jack didn’t respond, he was too caught up in his… whatever was happening. 

“Jack, what’s wrong? What happened?” 

Jack shook his head and a child-like whimper came out of his throat, sending a shiver down Davey’s spine. Upon closer inspection, Davey noticed that he was holding the hat, clutching it with trembling hands. 

“Jack, talk to me, please. What’s going on?” 

Another whimper, more painful to hear than before. With only slight hesitation, Davey placed a gentle hand on Jack’s back, and despite him attempting to push it off at first, Davey refused to let go. He urged for Jack to sit down, and Jack basically collapsed onto the stone steps. As soon as he was sitting he curled up, arms coming up to cover his head, and started rocking back and forth, leg bouncing up and down. The hat fell to the ground. Davey picked it up and placed it in his own lap without much thought as he sat down next to him. 

“It hurts,” Jack mumbled, voice croaking and breaking. “It hurts. It hurts, it hurts.” 

Davey, ignoring his racing heart in favor of remaining calm and rational, thanked whoever was listening that Jack was talking. 

“What hurts?”

“Chest.” The way his voice cracked in the middle of the word raised it a whole octave, and Davey once again put a hand on his back, rubbing it in the calming motion of circles against his heaving shoulder blades. 

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Should… should I call someone?” 

Jack shook his head so violently that he might as well have just been electrocuted. 

“Okay, um… Deep breaths…”

In a matter of seconds, Davey went through every possible reason Jack could be experiencing chest pains this bad in his mind, and at least concluded that were it a heart attack he would not be able to sit and talk like he was now. Davey studied Jack’s hitched breathing, uneven and full of audible gasps... And something hit him.

“You said your chest hurts?” he said.

“Y-yeah,” Jack somehow managed to confirm, despite being closer now than ever to hyperventilating. With each gasp it seemed harder for him to get any words out. 

“What kind of pain is it? Does it ache, burn…?”

“S-stab. It’s like a stab-b.” 

Everything clicked in Davey’s brain.

“Oh my God.” 

Jack moaned. “I c-can’t breathe… Why can’t I b-breathe?”

Davey put a comforting hand on the top of Jack’s head, stroking his hair lightly. In an instant, all of his panic was drained out of him, and replaced by pure sympathy. 

“That’s anxiety, Jack.”

Jack scoffed, shrugging Davey’s hand off.

“I-I don’t hav-ve anxiet-ty.”

“Clearly, you do.”

“No, this is… Diff-ferent…” A pained gasp escaped his mouth and  _ nevermind _ , Davey thought,  _ my panic is back _ . Seeing Jack like this was worse than he could have ever imagined. And he just wanted it to stop. Davey had to fix this. 

“Okay, Jack, look at me. We’re gonna breathe together, okay? I’m gonna do a count to five, and every time I get to five you’re either gonna breathe in or out, okay?” 

“Davey, I don’t—” 

Jack wheezed, and Davey tapped him on the cheek, motioning for him to turn his head towards his. 

“Just look at me and breathe. Come on. One.” 

“No… I’m n-not...”

“Don’t fight me on this!  _ One _ .”

Jack averted his gaze and Davey grabbed a firm hold of his face, turning it towards his own. If Jack didn’t want to accept that this was happening on his own accord, Davey would make sure that he would. Jack tried to break free, which normally wouldn’t have been a challenge, but in his state he simply couldn’t. 

“Breathe in,” Davey ordered, almost shocked at how cold he sounded.

“I—”

“Do it.” 

As if finally realizing the gravity of the situation, Jack did his best to take a long, deep breath, but only lasted a second. 

“Two.”

He tried again, and this time he lasted a little longer, maybe two seconds. 

“Three.”

Jack’s eyes fell closed and Davey had to really work to keep his head upright as he leaned into the position, putting his weight in Davey’s hands. 

“Four.”

_ There we go _ , Davey thought as Jack relaxed ever so slightly. This was getting somewhere. 

“Five.” 

He repeated the count and this time Jack breathed out. This was repeated multiple times until Jack merely sounded a bit winded, but no longer near-hyperventilation. Davey lowered his hands to Jack’s shoulders, and Jack collapsed into his lap. Instinctively, Davey wrapped his arms around his friend, locking him in a comforting embrace as Jack’s shock slowly faded out and transformed into sobs. Davey held him until they, too, faded into nothingness, and Jack buried his face into Davey’s chest, much like he had done back at the apartment days ago. When Jack’s sniffling had come to an end, yet he still refused to move, Davey got the sense that Jack was embarrassed. In turn, a blush crept up on Davey’s cheeks, along with the humiliation of the situation settling in. It wasn’t until Jack pulled back that Davey shifted to look him in the eye. 

“So, what happened?” he asked.

Jack swallowed, then promptly looked the other way. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Davey searched for a way to lock eyes with him again, as he said, “Jack—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Jack repeated. 

His nostrils flared as Davey studied him. Finally, the taller man nodded. 

“Okay.” 

With a sigh, he stood up, dusting off his pants. 

“Do you want to go back in?” he asked Jack with a nod to the door.

Jack buried his face between his knees with an exasperated groan. “I can’t. I already blew it.” 

Davey leaned down, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Hey. It makes sense for you to be nervous. This has probably happened before. If you explained, I’m sure they’d understand—”

A tug at his pant leg put Davey out of balance. When he looked down, Jack stared up at him with the desperation of a child convinced that danger awaited their parent wherever they were going. 

“Davey, you don’t get it,” he pleaded in a strained voice. “I can’t go back in. I can’t.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure?”

“Yes! Davey, please, I just — can’t.” 

The look on his face was one of terror and absolute hopelessness. Davey drew a sharp breath, ignoring the ache that tugged at his heart. 

“It’s okay. I know how you feel. So what do you wanna do then? You wanna just… stay here and wait for Medda to come pick us up?” 

“No, I… I don’t wanna stay here. I can’t.”

There seemed to be a lot of things Jack couldn’t do at the moment. But Davey didn’t complain, or even mind much.

“All right, let’s go, then.” He looked around, a thought striking him. “Hey, where’s your briefcase?” 

“ _ Fuck  _ me!” 

Davey couldn’t stop himself from thinking,  _ Oh, believe me, I’d love to _ , but he shook the thought off, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. Not the time. 

“Inside?” he asked instead and Jack nodded, once again groaning loudly. That didn’t help the images that had appeared in Davey’s mind. He took a deep breath, then straightened up. 

“Okay, you stay here and I’ll go get it, all right?” 

Jack looked like he might cry again. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, no problem. Just wait here.” 

Jack flung his arms around Davey’s legs at this, giving them a tight hug for a second, as he whispered, “Thank you.” 

“No problem,” Davey said and gave Jack a consoling pat on the head, hating that he had to break free from his friend’s grip. 

It took fighting every instinct in his body to make it back into the building.

As he made his way through the corridor, his past attempts at getting through to Jack played on repeat in his head. It finally made sense to him. 

Jack was experiencing anxiety.

Davey ignored his own as he went into the interview room and grabbed Jack’s briefcase for him, prioritizing letting Jack breathe than his own comfort for the time being. He masterfully dodged the questions slung at him, the opposite of eager to leave Jack on his own for too long.

Jack thanked him when he came out, and Davey helped him to his feet. They were ready to go.

“So,” Davey asked as they sat down in a booth at McDonalds thirty minutes later. “Has this happened before?” 

Jack shook his head, fiddling with the cap that rested on the table. It seemed to be spending more time in his hands than on his head lately. “Or, I mean,” Jack corrected himself, “not, like… to this extent.” 

Davey chuckled, but the laugh was sour. “I knew you weren’t fine.” 

“Well, yeah, okay? Yes, fine. I’m not...really fine, but… what the hell was I supposed to say? ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just… feeling dizzy for no reason, feeling like I’m suffocating all the time, even though nothing’s wrong’? I mean, come on! It’s pathetic.” 

“Jack, I… You know, it’s okay for you to have these feelings, right? You can’t control them.”

“Well they’re stupid and dumb and I hate them.” 

Jack glared out the tall glass window that encompassed his silhouette for dramatic effect, working his jaw and crossing his arms as if trying to appear tough. But to Davey he looked more like a pouting five year old, currently, than anything. 

“Look,” Davey said, debating reaching for Jack’s hand but ultimately deciding against it. “I know it sucks. But I have them too.”

He meant for this to be comforting, but it seemed to be the opposite. Jack slammed his hat onto the table, shot his legs out under its surface and threw his arms up in the air, making Davey jump.

“No,” Jack countered, “that’s not true. You have it way worse. You need… pills and things. I’m just… Me telling you I’m feeling bad would just be… asking for attention.”

“This, again? Jack, I told you, comparing your issues to mine won’t do you any good. You have a problem.”

“I don’t have a… if I had a problem, I would be seeing someone.”

Davey grabbed Jack’s hat just as he was about to pick it back up, forcing the artist to look up. 

“You know what, maybe you  _ should  _ see someone, Jack. The way you’re feeling isn’t normal.”

Jack snorted. “Oh, so now you’re calling me crazy?”

“Jack, no. Not at all. I’m saying you deserve not to feel like this,” Davey said, reaching for Jack’s hand, after all. But Jack drew his hand back before they could make contact. 

“I don’t wanna take pills like you do.”

“Jack, seeing someone doesn’t mean you’ll be forced to take pills. I’m taking them because it helps me, all right? That doesn’t mean it would help you. That’s why you should go see someone in the first place. I think you need help to figure out how to deal with this.”

“I am dealing with it. On my own.”

“Okay, Jack, repressing your anxiety and ignoring your problem is not what I would call ‘dealing with it.’ Just admit that you need help.”

“Help with what? I don’t have anxiety!”

“Then what do you call what happened at the interview?”

Jack mumbled some utter nonsense, before falling silent, accepting his defeat.

“Exactly. Look, I’m not gonna force you to do anything. Just think about it. Please?”

Jack avoided his gaze. But then he relaxed in his seat. “Fine.”

“Thank you. Now, what did you order again? Our food should have gotten here by now.”

Jack went through the list in his head and Davey grabbed the receipt, going to find an employée. A few weeks ago, this would have terrified him. But he didn’t even blush when he talked to the surprisingly sweet young man behind the counter. Forcing Jack to face his challenges had somehow forced him to start facing his own. Five minutes later he returned to their booth, victoriously brandishing two milkshakes, one McFlurry and two Large Fries. The air was lighter around them than the argument suggested it had reason to be as they ate their food, but neither of them paid it much notice. 

Two weeks later and they were pretty much back to their old routine. But Davey’s efforts had not been in vain — as proven by one evening in particular. 

They were at a bar when it happened. Their friend, Finch, had just gotten a promotion at said bar, and the group had decided that this was worthy of celebration. Which was, honestly, just a bad excuse to get drunk in the middle of the week. Davey was laughing at a very funny joke that Romeo had said when he noticed Jack at the other end of the bar, once again wearing that (by now) familiar, gloomy expression. Davey would have gotten up and walked over to him immediately, had it not been for the fact that Specs and Crutchie sat in the way, cornering him against the wall. On the other side of the table Elmer laughed along to Romeo, who continued his story with more jokes. 

A while ago, Spot and Race had run off. When Davey glanced across the dance floor he could spot them and a few of the others, jumping and spinning together. Jack was standing a short distance away, staring at his converse. In need of courage, Davey downed a shot and excused himself from the table. He forced his way through the dancing couples that blocked his way to Jack, apologizing to countless people when they had to step aside. A sigh of relief escaped him when he finally reached his friend. 

“Hey,” he said to Jack who looked up, nodding in greeting. “How you feeling? I noticed you’re… sulking.” 

Jack glanced around the room, as if asserting whether it was safe to let his guard down or not. After concluding that they were unbothered, he lowered his gaze again.

“Actually? I’m not great.” 

At first, Davey was convinced that the music and the general pandemonium of conversations that filled the bar must be messing with his hearing. 

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning in closer. 

“I’m not great,” Jack repeated, raising his voice slightly. Davey’s heart did a somersault in his chest. Without another word, he flung himself onto his friend, nearly toppling them both over. 

“W-what? What’d I do?!” 

“You didn’t lie,” Davey muttered into his friend’s hair, and Jack melted into his embrace after that.

“Guess I didn’t.” 

Davey pulled back to meet his gaze, so as to properly give him credit. 

“I’m proud of you.” 

Jack scoffed. “What for, complaining?” 

“Yes.” Davey stared intently into Jack’s eyes and the latter watched him, his mouth moving as if to speak, but no sound coming out of it. “No,” Davey corrected himself, breaking into laughter. “Of course not. I’m proud you told me the truth.” 

“Well… There you go.” 

They remained in that position for a while, Davey relishing in the feeling of his face so close to Jack’s. And then he remembered what he had just said.

“Wait, shit, Jack, you’re not feeling good. I forgot. Do you need anything?” 

Jack shrugged. “Nah.” 

Davey nodded and started to pull back, but at the last second Jack seemed to change his mind, grabbing onto his sleeve. 

“Would you just, maybe… Hold my hand?” 

A huge grin lit up Davey’s face as he interlocked his fingers with Jack’s. “With pleasure.” 

They stood like that for the next few minutes, their breaths conjoining. Davey hesitantly placed his free hand on Jack’s chest, his heart pounding in his own.

“So does this mean you’ll think about it?” 

“Think about what?” Jack asked, staring at Davey’s hand. 

_ Oh, God. _

Davey swallowed, struggling to keep his cool as he took a step closer. 

“Getting help?”

Jack didn’t answer. But there was something different about the expression he wore as he led Davey onto the dance floor, inviting him to dance. 

In that moment, Davey had transcended reality. The moving lights in the ceiling colored their surroundings pink, purple, and green in flashes, and the way the beams bounced off of Jack’s hair and shoulders and reflected in his eyes made Davey’s mouth dry. Around them, people were hollering and holding each other alike, and somehow this only sent the two further into their own bubble, both desperate to escape the overwhelming crowd and its furious waves of motion. As they danced, Jack grabbed hold of Davey’s coat, that he for some mysterious reason was still wearing. But he was glad he did, because this meant that Jack had a way of pulling him closer and closer towards himself with each step. Looking into Jack’s eyes, Davey got the sense that he was drowning, and the world around him faded away as within seconds, all he could see was green. 

“Hey, Jack—”

He didn’t get further before they collided: feet against feet, lips against lips. Jack’s hands still clutched Davey’s coat, and with one tug he had pulled the taller man down to his level. After the initial shock Davey melted into the kiss, longing to give himself over to the man before him. 

When he opened his eyes he was met by wild cheering from the group that had gathered around the two. Their friends seemed overly ecstatic about what had just happened. Normally, Davey would have hated getting this much attention during such an intimate moment. But between Jack holding him and the butterflies that still fluttered in his chest, he didn’t have the time to stop to care. He simply bent down and placed another kiss on Jack’s lips. Jack answered enthusiastically and the two forgot all about the bar, losing themselves in each other completely. 

Neither of them complained about not feeling good again that night. But that was only the start of their journey towards improvement. 

“How’d it go?” Davey asked and rose from his chair as Jack stepped out into the waiting room, about three weeks later. His boyfriend — Davey couldn’t quite believe it yet, his  _ boyfriend  _ — looked kind of shaken; his steps were slow and rigid as he staggered out. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, either. His arms swung back and forth as he walked, and he’d continuously grab hold of his wrists or his shirt, only to let go seconds later. 

_ Awkward _ , Davey realized. That was the perfect word to describe what Jack looked like in that moment. Awkward in his own skin. 

When Jack didn’t answer his question, Davey walked up to him and handed him his backpack. “You good?” he tried again. Jack just shrugged. He sort of swayed when he moved, and just to be safe, Davey grabbed hold of his arm, offering his support as they walked down the corridor. Jack didn’t exactly return the gesture, but Davey could feel him lean ever so slightly on him, and that made it worth it. 

Once they’d exited the building and Jack still hadn’t said a word, however, Davey started to get a little nervous. As they crossed the parking lot they both seemed lost in thought, distant from each other. Like many times before, Davey could feel his throat closing up. Maybe this had been a mistake, after all. Maybe this had been a bad idea, maybe he should mind his own business, maybe he shouldn’t even care, maybe Jack wanted him out of his life anyway, maybe—

“Hey, Davey...” 

Davey froze, in the middle of unlocking the door of his car when Jack said his name from behind him. He hadn’t even noticed Jack slipping out of his grip. Davey turned to face his boyfriend and wasn’t sure what to make of what he saw. Jack’s bag was hung nonchalantly over one shoulder, but he was clutching onto it for dear life, as if it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. He had an almost ashen tint to his face and Davey grew worried he might throw up on both of them. But instead, he did something even more surprising. He walked up to Davey, put a shaky hand on his shoulder. And his voice was barely above a whisper as he said the words that would continue to ring in Davey’s head on the drive back to the apartment. 

“Thank you.” 

“No problem, Jack—  _ Oh _ ?”

Without warning, Jack had burst into tears, and the fact that he tried to hide it by letting go of Davey and hurrying over to the other side of the car didn’t stop Davey from noticing. He entered the car, slamming the door shut and turning to look at his boyfriend already seated in the passenger seat, snivelling. 

“Jack, you… you okay, there?” 

Jack turned to him. His eyes glistened with tears. And then he was full on sobbing. Unsure of what to do, Davey just sat there, watching and waiting.

“Jack...” 

With a determined nod, he got out again, walking around to get to the passenger seat. He opened the door and crouched down at Jack’s feet, laying a hand on his knee. 

“Sorry…” Jack got out between sobs. 

“It’s okay,” Davey said, grabbing both of Jack’s hands. “What’s wrong, Jackie?” 

Jack shook his head, gazing down at Davey. 

“I… I just… Thank you.” 

Davey didn’t say anything as Jack continued his sobbing; he couldn’t say anything. It took until Jack calmed down and started wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket — that same, blue jacket — for Davey to stand up, leaning into the car to cup Jack’s face in his hands. 

“Hey, I love you. Okay?” 

_ I love you _ . 

It had just slipped out. 

Jack’s eyes widened. Davey could hear the thumping of his heart, feel it pulsing through his veins. He had said that many times before. But not since… Not since they became… A thing. 

For a moment, they were both very still. Then, Jack made the tiniest move. 

Davey wiped away a stray tear with his thumb, leaning in further. 

Jack closed the gap between them.

As they broke apart, Davey stroked his boyfriend’s hair, hoping to be comforting. 

“I should get back behind the wheel,” he said, not making an effort to move.

“You should,” Jack agreed, not moving, either.

They stayed like that for another minute before Davey gave Jack a final peck on the lips and sat down next to him, starting the car. 

“Do you maybe wanna come back to my apartment for a while? Think things over?”

Jack nodded and Davey smiled at him. “Good.”

As he drove, Davey was hit by how far they had come in the past months. With another determined nod he concluded that in time, Jack would be okay. And Davey would, too. They both would.

“How are you?” he asked Jack as they stepped out of the car about an hour later.

“I’m fine,” Jack replied, linking his arm with Davey’s. And for the first time in God knows how long, Davey realized the truth in those words. For the first time they didn’t have a hidden meaning behind them. For the first time they meant just that: Jack was not great. But he wasn’t terrible either. He was… fine. 

A smile played on Davey’s lips as they entered his apartment together, huddling for warmth in the chilly air. They were going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this shitstorm of a oneshot! I kinda had fun writing it, at least. I consider Jack Kelly one of my many fictional soulmates, so... uh... yeah there’s no real point to me saying that, it’s a little embarrassing tbh. What. Oh well. I don’t even know what I’m saying. 
> 
> I am a walking cringefest, but if you think that’s enjoyable, consider sticking around for more cringe works, maybe? 
> 
> Peace or whatever,  
One Angsty Boi
> 
> (the most cringe name to ever cringe)


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